Broader Shoulders
by kracken23
Summary: "If victory truly stood on the back of sacrifice, they needed to be prepared to broaden their shoulders." Summary in Chapter 1 much better. Pre mid-3x07 Clarke and Octavia are kidnapped by the Azgeda on their way back to Arkadia to get behind the blockade. Lexa and Abby go to rescue them. Both are such powerful characters in their their own rite, I felt they deserved reconciliation
1. Chapter 1

**Hello hello! So as it says in the summary, this is a quick fic (probably 5-7 chapters once it's all wrapped up), which diverges from the actual storyline (not in some insane, out of the question way-I tried to keep the characters true to themselves as I perceive them, and hope it kinda reads like an episode of the show would). I'm a big fan of the show, and think so much of the characters I included in this story. This fic is a re-do of the dreaded 3x07 episode (dun dun duh!), without the Lexa dying and all that. (Really, it takes off from the ending of 3x06). Now, yes yes, I know Lexa Deserved Better, and while rest assure she survives in my story, this fic does not serve to replace the importance of that episode. I love the actress and the character alike and I think it would have been amazing to see her continue in the show, but at the same time I appreciate how the writers used her loss to advance the storyline. I wrote this fic with the hopes of creating a chance of reconciliation between Lexa and Abby, as I feel they deserve. I hope y'all enjoy; feel free to comment thoughts, concerns, criticisms.**

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 **CHAPTER ONE**

To say she was unnerved would be an understatement. She looks to the young woman walking lithely beside her—maybe she is actually a pace or two in the lead. It's dark, but in the weak illumination of the moon she studies her form incredulously.

The commander seems uncharacteristically at ease, she thinks.

While she is still learning the importance of caution and constant vigilance, she is aware that the commander should be more uncomfortable at the exposure their current situation has left them privy to. Even in the shield of the night, they are traveling on an open road, covered for nothing—no trees, no settlements, no people, just bland exposure to whatever may lurk in the dark. There's supposedly a cluster of buildings they're approaching, but if it's out there it's impossible to discern from the starless backdrop and movement one's imagination creates on the blank canvas surrounding them. There is no way to see—and more importantly, to hide from—any predator or enemy in any direction. But, alas, she watches as the commander moves with light, inaudible steps, small but surefooted. A dull gleam of her armor, the hilt of her sword glinting in the moonlight. Her breathing is just as undetectable. It is in the things that are absent that make her unnerving—so unlike the grounders are her small, purposeful movements, the way she yields her quiet rage, the thoughtfulness of her words before she speaks. It makes her dangerous, a beast of prey.

It doesn't do anything for the other woman's nerves that the commander does not speak, or look in any direction but forward, her eyes locked on the goal.

It also does not help that it's just the two of them.

"That feels like a branding iron." Lexa suddenly speaks, making the other woman jump a little. The commander's voice has a tone beyond her years, like scars on the bark of a tree that has weathered years of wind.

She recovers and clears her throat, "What?"

"You boring holes into my back with your eyes."

"Oh." Is the only reply.

"You don't strike me as the quiet type, Abby." Lexa says, still not breaking eye-contact with the void ahead.

The older woman has inexplicable goosebumps. She somewhat prides herself on being unshakable, but there is something about the young commander that has Abby gnashing her teeth. She's not sure she's ever heard Lexa say her name before, or maybe now it was so silent she just noticed the sharp connections Lexa's tongue makes on the back of her teeth when she spoke.

"What exactly do I strike you as, Commander?" Abby asked shortly.

"Amongst other things, a woman of action." Lexa offered a sideways glance. "And if you've passed anything on to Clarke, one who speaks her thoughts."

"Now is not the time for this conversation." Abby muttered, "We should go over the plan on how to get the girls back."

The Grounder clenched her jaw in mild annoyance. They had already 'gone over' the plan before leaving Arkadia. She did not understand _Skaikru's_ neurosis with details and repetition. The Chancellor, despite her shortcomings in patience and emotional attachments, was obviously a sharp woman. She knew the plan, the details, the expected outcomes—continuously discussing them would only open space for doubt and changes. There was a difference between adaptation and interference, and Lexa would not tolerate the latter.

"It's a long walk." The Commander had her doubts that this journey would end without one of them throttling the other. She was not one for reconciliation where it was not welcome, but she knew—for Clarke's sake, and more importantly the integrity of the coalition—that she and the Chancellor would eventually have to tolerate each other. Though she and Abby's relationship was far from the noxious one her and Nia's had been, it would be for the benefit of all it they could at least stand shoulder to shoulder in their alliance.

The Chancellor was not blind to the Commander's intonations, and it irked her somewhat that the teenager was actually being the bigger person between the two of them, but she did not have it in her to discuss her reservations of trusting the young woman responsible for a large majority of the Arkers' deaths, and Clarke's emotional break. She responds, "Then we'll have plenty of time."

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FLASHBACK—LEXA INFORMS ABBY THAT THE ICE NATION HAS CLARKE

 _The Commander of the Twelve—no Thirteen—Clans' arrival is not perceived as a welcome one. They dismount their horses well before the gates and approach on foot. She hears muffled orders and sees armed individuals trading places along the fence. She and her warriors halt and wait silently at the gate. A sentry, instead of greeting her or asking her to state her business, disappears from his post._

 _Leksa kom Trikru was many things, endlessly patient was not one of them. She bellows, "I need to speak with the Chancellor."_

 _Several visible guards stare uncomfortably behind the wire that separates them from the Commander._

 _Lexa notices that each of them is armed, but also each of them had shouldered their weapons._

 _Beside her, Lexa notices the most of minute shifts of weight from one foot to the other of the warrior at her right hand. Indra was undoubtedly in pain, but Lexa knew her change in stance was not for that reason. Indra did not do 'nervous', but she was well practiced in 'suspicious', and that is what the Commander sensed from her._

 _Lexa somewhat regrets not having a more in-depth conversation with the woman before ordering her along, but besides herself, there was no individual in Polis that this situation did not matter more to, "You're uneasy, Indra?"_

 _"_ _I am alert,_ Heda." _Indra was not a woman of many words, her strengths lied within her actions._

 _Their exchange ends there as the gates suddenly begin to swing open. Marcus Kane stands on the other side._

 _In fact, he is the only thing that stands to greet them, the compound behind him is void of all other_ Skaikru _, save for the fence detail._

 _"_ _Commander," Kane says, panting a little, obviously having sprinted from wherever he was to greet them. He steps several paces closer, so that they are within a comfortable speaking distance but not so much as to earn threatening glances from four the grounders flanking the Commander. "We weren't expecting you." It was not the most profound thing Marcus had ever said, he'd admit._

 _Lexa likes Kane; she cannot help it. He was set apart from the other Sky People, namely because he tended to think before he spoke, but there was something both wise and world-travelled about the man who grew up amongst the stars._

 _She surprises him by extending a hand, repeating, "I need to speak with the Chancellor."_

 _Marcus clasps her forearm, but is cautious as he speaks, "I can go get the Chancellor for you, Commander. Please understand why I am not immediately inviting you inside. I do not know that you are safe here—"_

 _"_ _I am not here in retaliation for the massacre, Kane. Something has happened; I need to see the Chancellor, as well as Dr. Griffin."_

 _Kane feels his stomach hollow at her words,_ Clarke _, and immediately orders the nearest sentry at the fence, "Go get Abby."_

 _The teenager nods without question and takes off towards the Ark._

 _"_ _You have my word no harm will come to him, but this involves Pike as well."_

 _Kane scratches at the back of his head, "It's not that, Commander. If you need Pike I can take you to him, but if you need the Chancellor, well, then Abby is one in the same."_

 _Lexa cocks an eyebrow, "What happened?"_

 _"_ _Uh, it's a long story. There was more or less a coup, and the armory was broken into and all hell broke loose here last night. I can tell you Pike and his apostles are in lock-up, for now. Abby is acting as Chancellor again until things get back in order. Not all the weapons stolen from the armory have been recovered, and not all of Pike's more radical supporters have been subdued, so I think it safer that you all stay out here."_

 _As he finishes speaking, Abby Griffin emerges with the sentry sent to fetch her._

 _"_ _Commander, Indra," Abby greets the two she knows formally, and gives a curt nod to the other three grounders. She can't stop herself from swiveling her head in search of two things: the familiar faces of Clarke and Octavia, or a horde of warriors come for retribution. She finds neither and is immediately worried. Just the Commander and four warriors?_

 _"_ _Chancellor," Lexa greets, again extending her arm. As Abby returns the strange handshake Lexa speaks, "I need you to listen very closely." Abby was well aware of the importance of eye contact, but Lexa's was something otherworldly, it always had been. When she spoke, the Commander captured the other person's gaze, with bright eyes, the color of the trees she serves, constantly reading and searching and calculating—not disarmingly so, but in a way that speaks where her words do not._

 _"_ _I do not wish to add insult to injury in light of whatever happened here last night, but we must act quickly, and quietly, to resolve what happened_ outside _of your walls yesterday._

 _"_ _Please understand the coalition is fragile. So, the actions we take will not be without reaction. I hope to resolve this before it spreads too quickly. In order to maintain peace, we must not let the other clans think we are making a move against_ Azgeda _, must not let anyone know we can be easily shaken. Peace requires sacrifice._

 _"_ _King Roan of Azgeda has been killed. The details of the events are still unclear, but it seems his rightfulness to the throne was called into question, and he failed to defend it. Ontari stands in his stead as queen. Her first call to action was to imprison Clarke and Octavia on their way to return behind the blockade. The messenger she sent with this news has guaranteed that they are not to be harmed."_

 _Abby and Marcus stand side by side, both open-mouthed and reeling._

 _"_ _Wha—" Abby struggles to sift through her racing mind and find what is to be her first question, "What does she want?"_

 _"_ _For_ Skaikru _to be denounced as the thirteenth clan, and removed from the coalition."_

 _"_ _How can we be sure they are actually safe?" Marcus asked._

 _"_ _The messenger that Ontari sent is being detained in Polis."_

 _"_ _So?"_

 _"_ _It's her younger sister."_

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Abby first notices it when she watched the commander stand.

Lexa had effectively not moved from where she was perched in the corner of the abandoned, one-room building they had taken to rest in several hours ago. Abby stood first from where she was sitting opposite her, knowing their rest had come to an end and it was time to continue. The healer was on her feet, lightly dusting off the seat of her pants when she looked to the younger woman. It was the first time since they began their journey that Lexa was not already waiting at the door for Abby.

Lexa raised her bowed head at the sound of Abby's movements, and without looking at the older woman, she moved to stand.

Abby watched as something unfamiliar flitted across Lexa's features. Pain. It was gone as soon as it had appeared, manifesting in a catch of the breath, a downward pull of the corners of the mouth, a scrunch of the eyes. Lexa used the slightest of leverage against the wall that supported her to push herself into a standing position. She continued to look down at her own feet, adjusting her scabbard at her hip.

Abby inclined her head slightly and closed the small space between them three strides. Lexa couldn't help but turn her head to look at Abby in slight, but unmasked, confusion, at the fact that they had never dared been this physically close before.

What happened next, Abby could not help, her body moving of its own accord. One hand dropped her pack from where she'd slung it over her shoulder, the other hand simultaneously reaching up and pressing to Lexa's forehead.

Needless to say, Lexa nearly leapt out of her skin, yanking back ungracefully and batting away Abby's offending hand. The action only lasted a second or so, and was slow and nonthreatening—even somewhat tender, but the commander of the thirteen clans was instantly furious nonetheless. She was unaccustomed to be touched, even more so without permission, and she be damned it was going to be Abby Griffin, who trusted her as far as she could throw her. "What are you doing?!" Lexa demanded, suddenly huffing for air through flared nostrils.

It had not been Abby's intention to frighten or offend the commander, so she stood for several seconds, her hand still reaching out in front of her. She stared at the commander. Lexa had assumed a low, centered stance and was breathing harshly through her nose. What was left of the war paint she had applied two days ago was smudged and flaking off. Now, in the orange, waxing light of the day, Abby recognized beads of sweat on the commander's forehead and top lip. Her skin was pale, not just due to the worn kohl outlining her eyes. Wispy strands of hair framed her face loose from the knotted braids. And she wasn't standing absolutely straight, as she usually did—she hunched, shoulders rolled forward and bent at the waist only a few degrees, almost imperceivably so.

"Commander, are you okay?" Abby asked quietly, lowering her hand, the heat from the commander's skin still resonating through her palm, even through the brief interaction. She searched Lexa's eyes, and, like the look of pain that had danced across her face, for the shortest of instances Abby did not see The Commander. She saw something else, an otherness. She saw a child, but not in the sense of the teenager she so scornfully pointed out a few days ago; no, now she saw a little girl, scared and frantic, but simultaneously mischievous and bright. One that loved and was loud, but soft. Abby felt a brief flicker of insanity, a notion to draw Lexa in, to hug her and tell her she was safe.

Thankfully, the urge passed without incidence, her usual regard for the woman who abandoned them, condemned them to death, returning. Abby immediately returned her thoughts to Clarke, the child who actually needed her, and felt somewhat guilty for sparing even the briefest of concerns for Lexa.

Lexa quickly adjusted, righting herself and unnecessarily straightening her armor, "Yes, of course."

"I'm sorry, I just—Let's get going." Abby said definitively, and Lexa simply nodded in agreement.

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FLASHBACK—ABBY AND LEXA PREPARE TO LEAVE

 _"_ _Let me get this straight," Abby stood with her arms crossed. Lexa hated that. It made one look like sulking child, as well as left one's arms tied in a knot in the event of an attack. Abby continued, "You and I travel to the Ice Nation,_ alone, not _on horseback, and negotiate the girls' release in exchange for Ontari's sister. Why would she do that? She was willing to send the girl in the first place."_

 _"_ _Ontari herself is a child, she does not understand anything that Nia did not put in her head. She sent her sister to feel powerful, to confuse us, either to let us believe we had an upper hand or to convince us that she is truly unfeeling." Lexa rubs her temples with her forefingers, "Nia has poisoned her mind and taught her nothing but hate and resentment. That is no way to live, and certainly no way to lead."_

 _That sentence surprised Abby. She supposed she did not consider Lexa to be malevolent, but she was not blind to the price of the Commander's cunning leadership tactics. Hard, unbending and unmerciful, yes, but not malignant._

 _The Commander continues, "We will go and explain to her the importance of the coalition. Nia has undoubtedly prejudiced her against the alliance as well; let her believe her clan holds supremacy over the others, that it is her birthright to rule. But there is a difference between ignorance and unawareness."_

 _"_ _What if we leave the coalition?" Abby was thinking of the most battle-less way to get Clarke and Octavia back safely. She was aware it was a thoughtless notion, and the Commander was quick to point it out._

 _"_ _I refuse to denounce the thirteenth clan. I do not respond well to threats and I will not yield to acts of tyranny._

 _"_ _As for you leaving the coalition of your own accord, it will not be well received, to say the least." Lexa does not say it aloud, but her scrutinizing gaze spoke volumes. Skaikru rescinding their position amongst the alliance would not only remove them from Lexa's protection, but the action would be perceived as an act of treason—certain death._

 _"_ _Okay, fine. Why did she give us until the new moon? That's almost two weeks from now. If we take the rover we can be there the day after tomorrow."_

 _"_ _The timeline I don't fully understand. But I have an idea." The Commander says honestly, obviously unhappy that she has not figured out why Ontari had given them so much time to either concede or retaliate, "She thinks we will go in arms. I believe she has given so much time to prepare her own armies, to be prepared to defend herself. She's been in power for less than a week, and I imagine Azgedakru are somewhat weary of a third leader in a month."_

 _"_ _And we will be going on foot." The Commander added, reminding the Chancellor the importance of drawing as little attention as possible. Ontari had given them—in what was obviously a trap—a distant deadline to negotiate for Clarke and Octavia, but Lexa planned on using it wisely none the less. The Skaikru rover was a non-factor; Skaikru were meant to be behind a blockade enforced with a kill order—the Commander could not be seen galivanting across the territories in their vehicle. As for traveling by horse, that was also denied. Horses were noisy and noticeable, required large amounts of food and water, not to mention a horse was a sign of high position, wealth, or that of a warrior—all of which were too high profile for this journey._

 _She had also explained the importance of facing_ Azgeda _as discretely as possible. Peace, as it turned out, was exponentially more difficult to maintain than war. And if victory truly stood on the back of sacrifice, they needed to be prepared to broaden their shoulders. If the other clans knew that kidnapping one or two measly kids was all it took to down a pillar, then no one's loved ones were safe—it was a lesson Lexa had long since learned with Costia. They could not approach the gates of_ Azgeda _with an army and expect peace. It was important for them to remain as non-threatening as possible, which is why they would go alone._

 _"_ _And if she does not see the light?" Abby almost rolled her eyes as she said it. As admirable as the Commander's intentions sounded, the doctor found it hard to believe that Ontari would simply nod her head and go along and accept that the ways she had learned since she was a child—from a woman she was standing next to when the Commander drove a spear into her heart—were misplaced._

 _"_ _Ontari has no right to lead Azgeda—they follow a monarchy succeeded in a bloodline. Roan is gone, and the rightful successor is his nephew, Gowen. Gowen is spineless and dimwitted unfortunately, but the rightful heir. He is also imprisoned in Polis. Should Ontari 'see the light' as you put it, that's where he will remain. Should she continue playing games, I will forgive him of his crimes and place him on the throne." The Commander looks thoughtful as she speaks, "The people of Azgeda are callous, commanded by tradition. They may fear Ontari, but they respect their customs more. They will support this."_

 _Abby has a dozen more questions about blackmailing the unseated queen, but instead asked, ill at ease. "What about the kill order?"_

 _"_ _It remains in effect. As long as you remain with me you will be pardoned." The Commander is careful not to use the word 'safe'._

 _"_ _When do we leave?"_

 _Lexa was somewhat relieved that Abby was not being as headstrong as she could be. "Is one hour enough time to get your affairs in order?" Normally, she would not have given any time, but in light of the tenuous state_ Skaikru _was in right now, she was worried that absconding with their leader of less than a day would create more unnecessary strain on the people she was supposed to be aligned with._

 _Abby nodded and turned to Kane, who was observing the conversation from several feet away._

 _The Commander turns to Indra, who is mirroring Kane's position behind her, and asks, "Uneasy yet?"_

 _If Lexa hadn't known her better she would have considered what Indra said next an attempt at a candid joke, "Not as much as you will be in an hour."_

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	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

They had slowed down considerably. It was not lost on Abby that she was now several paces ahead of Lexa, the gap between them widening another step with every passing hour. Abby could not help but let the concern return, her thoughts carouselling between thoughts of Clarke and Octavia's rescue, and whatever the hell was wrong with Lexa. They were still two days from the Ice Nation, two days from saving her daughter, two days from releasing the breath she'd been holding since this whole thing started.

Abby offered Lexa her canteen once again, and once again the commander politely refused. Abby could not risk continuous backwards glances and worried questioning, so she only got to inspect Lexa on their short rests every few miles. Abby had to initiate each break by pretending to need rest or feigning a bothersome blister so that the commander would actually stop. In the beginning of the day, Abby had not tried to be so considerate, but as the day wore on, Lexa would fall back even further, her steps uncharacteristically clumsy and her breathing becoming louder and more wet. By the afternoon she had developed a wet cough she had been trying to conceal as a growl of sorts.

They were resting again, their breaks getting exponentially longer each time. Abby looked at where Lexa had sat herself on the forest floor.

She wanted to hate her. On some level, she probably did a little. She wanted there to be a seething, caustic rage to fuel her distrust and detestation. She wanted to relive the feeling of holding Clarke as she cried, _I tried to be the good guy_. She wanted to blame her. Also on some level, Lexa didn't make it hard to dislike her. She was rude and forward and ruthless and deadly, but at the same time she was dedicated and wholehearted in all her endeavors, it made it difficult not to respect her. Even if she was just a kid. A kid carrying a nation.

And now, staring at her struggling to climb to her feet, her armor and her sword which normally looked as if they were natural extensions of her body, looked bulky and arduous, the look she catches on the side of her face as she blanches in silent pain, Abby wants to help. She sets her mouth in a hard line as she watches the girl struggle under what appears to be invisible weight. She can't help herself, "Commander, I think we should rest a little longer." Part of her can't believe she's putting Lexa's wellbeing before Clarke's rescue, but at the same time she rationalizes that she can't get Clarke and Octavia back sans commander.

Lexa's only response is to lean forward and brace herself against her knees, mumbling something.

"Commander?" Abby begins moving against the 'safe' distance she made a point to keep from the girl.

Abby repeats herself once she's beside Lexa. Abby is careful not to bend down or reach out to touch her, no matter how her instinct tells her otherwise.

"Let's continue, it's that way." Lexa nods her head in the direction they had obviously already been going in.

Abby continues to pointedly stare down at Lexa, even though she has her eyes clamped shut and is breathing heavily. Abby makes a daring decision. "No."

That gets Lexa's attention, "What do you mean 'no'?" She looks up at Abby with glassy eyes, who is standing before her with her hands on her hips in a pose that Lexa is unfamiliar with, but is certain it is a stance of obstinacy.

"Tell me what's wrong." Abby said again, there was something in her voice that was akin to her stance—inimitable.

Lexa growled, "It's nothing. We must continue. We're wasting time." She manages to straighten, but not without uncontrollably allowing her arms to cross her body in somewhat of a hug.

"It is going to take us three times as long to get there at this pace, you might as well just rest. I am in no position to negotiate with the Ice Nation alone; I need you alive to do so." Abby did not break her position, "It'll be dark in a couple hours anyway. We can take tonight to let," she waved her hand in a circle in Lexa's face, "whatever this is pass. We still have ten days, right? Come on, you can eat and get some sleep, it'll do wonders."

"Chancellor, I appreciate your concern, but it will be better if we keep moving." Lexa did not like being told 'no', and was doing her best to mask her resentment.

"Just tell me what's wrong. I can help—"

"I don't need help! Particularly yours," Lexa's voice rose in strength and volume. "Don't think I'm not aware of your transgressions, Chancellor. The last thing I need is your healing hands."

Abby felt herself flush, only imagining which 'transgressions' the commander spoke of. Fine, there was plenty of ammunition in her arsenal for a personal attack, "MY transgressions? That's rich coming from you, _Commander_. After the attacks and the murders and the lies? TonDC? Just look at what you did to Clarke at Mount Weather—"

"What _I_ did to Clarke?" Lexa spat fire. Recalling the quiet confessions that Clarke had made of her mother in their short time together—the death of her father, sending Clarke to the ground to what was nearly certain death, the massacre onboard the Ark, "You cannot drop a vase that is already cracked and expect it not to break, Abby. I have come to terms with what I've done to Clarke; have you?"

Abby opened her mouth to reciprocate, but Lexa brushed passed her with sudden purpose, walking in the direction of Azgeda.

Without thinking, Abby snatched Lexa's arm as she passed, like she would have a petulant teenager (hell, like she had done to Clarke innumerable times), spinning her slightly to face her. Lexa, in turn, spun with the force that Abby imparted on her and swung her free arm in an arc, aiming for Abby's head.

In a different time, under different circumstances, Lexa's right hook would have knocked Abby clear into next week, but Lexa felt her arm moving slow and sloppy, the motion forcing the little wind from her lungs and the strength from her legs.

Abby ducked the blow, the momentum continuing to carry Lexa further into the spin. She made a small, surprising, pained gasp and with that she was sinking to the forest floor.

Abby had yet to let go of Lexa's left arm, and instinctively drew her closer, controlling her fall.

Abby then blinked in confusion, the transaction of movements leaving her kneeling on the ground, the commander facedown across her lap, gasping for breath. Abby could not stop the onslaught of apprehension she felt when the girl did not immediately try to pick herself up. She waited several pregnant seconds before placing a hand on Lexa's back, her voice betraying her to her concern, "Lexa?"

At the weight of Abby's hand on her back, the younger girl let out a discomposed squeal, "Gah!", and every single one of her muscles tensed. Abby immediately lifted her hand away, the girl in obvious pain, but then like earlier this morning, she lost control of her curiosity at the Commander's indisposition, and automatically moved to scrunch up the hem of Lexa's shirt. With the combination of Lexa's instant withdrawal from the contact and the stiff armor impeding the way of the shirt, Abby only got a fleeting glance at the unreal darkness of bruising lancing up her side and hugging her spine before Lexa shakily yanked the shirt back into place with one hand, the other hand forcing her weakly off the doctor's lap and onto her knees. She heaved for breath momentarily, locking eyes with Abby and calmly saying, "Please don't do that."

"Please let me look at you," Abby was ashamed to half-beg the child, but she could not help it, it was in her nature; where she failed as a healer, she exuded an innate maternal instinct that she continuously failed to conceal. She had originally assumed the girl was suffering from some sort of virus, but now it was obvious she was wounded. She had not gotten a good enough look at the bruise to make any assumptions, but the way the Commander was deteriorating she could only imagine what the wound was really like.

"I meant it when I said I appreciate your concern, Chancellor," Lexa was using her breathy, subdued tone once again, "But I am not your responsibility. I'll be fine." Lexa is accustomed to recognizing fear; to be _Heda_ was not to be fearless. She feared for her people, for their future, for the impact her decisions had; she feared failure, and vulnerability, and the uncertainty of the life ahead of her. But to be _Heda_ was to be intrepid. Not unlike how a tree could only grow in the presence of rain, or the purpose of a sword without an enemy's to impact; strength had no merit without dissension. Lexa was, however, unaccustomed to being intimidated. The same overawing power that Clarke emanated, also came from her mother; it was something unrecognizable, intangible. Destined by a disparate spirit to lead, to stand out. It was not a quality that one could be trained to have; it was intrinsic and irrefutable. They both also had the unlearned need to care, to help, to rescue. It was all these things that made them intimidating, and Abby just slightly more so in her ability to turn it all off—something Clarke had yet to learn was how to ignore the pain, wield the loneliness in power. The final trait contributing to Lexa's apprehension was something else that Clarke did not display, and that was Abby's maternal nature. Lexa rarely thought to her own mother—her memories of her were poor and insubstantial—but she was familiar with the families of Polis, and the importance of a mother to her child, their capacity to love unconditionally, to protect and provide, to give and maintain the life of another…it was this in combination with her other characteristics, it made her new and threatening.

The doctor searched the girl's face for any chance of her to concede, but the Commander's expression only impressed the opposite. Abby rose from the ground, balancing against the weight of her backpack, not looking away from the younger woman.

When Lexa does not immediately follow suit, Abby takes a gamble and offers a hand. It takes a cautious moment, but to her unmasked shock, the Commander grabs her forearm and lets the doctor pull her to her feet. The Commander gives a single nod of thanks, followed by a gut-wrenching cough that Abby assumes she is not permitted to comment on.

They set off, once again, in brittle silence.

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	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

They make it even less far than the previous leg of the journey. The terrain has changed slightly, it is more uneven, and even though there are hills they seem to be progressing at a steady incline. The trees are different, more brown and taller, but their branches start much higher, leaving thick, moss-less trunks in the line of sight for as far as they eye could see.

There are now several meters between the pair, Abby occasionally stopping at the base of a hill and turning to see Lexa reach its peak behind her. She tries to get the Commander to drink some water once again, but is declined, "You're almost out."

"And you plan on surviving how many more days without drinking or eating?" Abby scoffed. She recalls the small skin of water the Commander has with her—undoubtedly empty now. "Despite the way your people follow you, Commander, you are not a god among man. You need to drink."

"There is a trading post to the east of here. If it doesn't rain in the next few hours, we can stop and I will drink there." She thinks fondly on the memory of Clarke remarking about her leadership position the day they fought the Pauna, "And that is not why they follow me, Chancellor."

Abby ignores the latter remark, "I thought the point of traveling off the road was to avoid anyone seeing us?"

"It is not a particularly…popular…post. I doubt we will see anyone." The corner of Lexa mouth turns up in what Abby can only assume is her hiding a smile, inwardly laughing at whatever joke she had just told to herself.

Abby ignores how annoyed she is, "And what about who runs the shop?"

Lexa's mouth turns up again, "Believe me, he won't say anything."

The older woman continues ahead, then stops once again after ascending and subsequently descending another hill. In its valley, she looks up at the treetops, guessing it was late afternoon, but beyond the trees were dark, menacing clouds greedily blocking the sun. Abby frowns.

She calls behind her, "How long do you think the weather will set us back?"

When there is no answer she turns and looks back up the terrain she had just traversed. Her companion is not yet at the top of the hill. _Forget the rain slowing us down,_ Abby thought, but aloud she called, "Commander?"

The quiet that answers her has the older woman scrambling back up the incline with a sudden sense of urgency, "Commander?" she tries not to let the concern bleed into her voice.

At the crest of the hill she can see down to the base at the other side. Abby is relieved to see Lexa is standing, albeit awkwardly, bent forward with her hands bracing her against her thighs. Her head is bowed down, several locks of hair, loose from their braids, hang down and shield her face. She does not respond when the doctor calls out to her once more. Abby—aided heavily by gravity—jogs back down the hill with long strides.

Once beside the girl, Abby stands awkwardly, knowing better than to touch her, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. When none comes she tries again, "Commander, what is it? Can you look at me?"

When the girl slowly obliges the request, Abby can feel her eyes flare in surprise at the scene.

Lexa raises an unnaturally pale face, which served to highlight her bright pink cheeks and she was glistening in sweat. Her eyes, normally bright and observant, were watery and unfocused, lined with red rims. The muscles in her face and neck were contracted back into a pained veil, and she panted for air. Her lips are parted, but her teeth are clenched, and an ungodly black liquid stains her teeth.

The Commander looks animalistic, but for only a second longer, before her features go lax. She inhales a frightening, stridor-like breath and whispers, "Abby…" before throwing a wet, visceral cough that produces a forceful splatter of the black substance. One of her arms comes up to wrap her chest, like it is stopping a beast from bursting through, the other arm extends to brace her weight against the rapidly approaching earth as she drops to one knee.

Abby breaks the horrified trance she was in at the sound of her name, and for the second time in as many hours she half-catches Lexa, guiding her first to her knees, but the girl is unable to maintain the position so Abby uses the lightest touch—the amount of force a hummingbird might have on a flower—and pushes her to the ground, "Dammit!". She arranges the girl precariously. Lexa is not unconscious, and watches Abby's actions with a heavy gaze. Automatically she places her hand on the girl's forehead, this time uninterrupted, and was not shocked to find the heat Lexa burned with. She moved her hand down to Lexa's throat to take her pulse. Lexa brought her own hand up to push Abby away, but she was shockingly weak. Abby returned Lexa's hand to her side without opposition. She uses a thumb to gently raise each of the girl's eyelids. "Follow my finger." Abby traces an 'H' in the air in front of Lexa's face as the girl lazily obeys.

Abby pulled off her pack and retrieved her canteen. Silently, she unscrewed the cap and lowered it to Lexa's mouth, trying to recall the last time she watched the girl drink anything. Lexa accepts a tentative swallow without argument, which was followed by an exaggerated grimace. Abby's brow furrowed, "Lexa?"

Lexa closed her eyes at the sound of her name, and she answered softly, "I just need a minute."

"What you need is help." Abby says definitively, then with a kinder voice, "I need to know what's wrong."

The younger woman makes a point not to engage Abby in another disagreement; she simply inhales, centering herself. The doctor sweeps her eyes over the Commander's body. She's supine amongst the dark foliage, the armor encasing her chest vibrates with her labored breathes, one of her hands hovers limply below her sternum—not quite touching the fabric of her shirt, trembling slightly. Abby casts a suspicious look at the positioning, and reaches up to unbuckle the commander's armor.

Again, Lexa brought her hand up, but this time resting it on one of Abby's where they fumbled with the buckle of Lexa's spaulder. "Please, don't." She whispered.

Abby stilled for a second, stalled by how the girl was able to wield her words in such a way that she simultaneously sounded like a child and a sovereign head; both progeny and prodigy. It confused Abby, as Lexa looks up at her un-pleading and serious—her face still that of the ruthless overseer of armies, the one that growls and bears her teeth like something wild before a kill, but still sounds malleable and young. She knows Lexa is far from incapable of curling her words, disguising her natural juvenile inflection with a feral heat and lowered tone. But despite the girl's constant look of somewhat-bored menace and distrust, Abby knew her true voice was this one she used now in hushed tones.

She leaned over Lexa with a soft expression, "Commander," she said it as if she was cooing to a child, or a pet, "Enough. Let me, please." She pleads with a look, _Enough, it's over. You need help. Let me help you._

Lexa let her hand drop in defeat, closing her eyes in resignation.

Abby gently undid the laces at the front of the armor and pulled it free. Now it was obvious exactly how much the girl was sweating, even the metal and rubber of her armor was slick. Abby asked tentatively, her hands already hovering over the hem of Lexa's top, "I'm just going to lift your shirt, okay"?"

The commander did not answer or acknowledge that she had said anything at all, so Abby took it as consent and carefully tugged up the dark material of Lexa's top.

It wasn't sweat that was sticking Lexa's shirt to her torso. It took Abby several seconds to recognize the inky, viscous liquid as blood.

"Lexa." Abby said, this time as if she was scolding her. "Oh my god," she said, suddenly fumbling with her pack to open it, retrieving the small stacks of cloths jammed inside, "What is this? What happened?" she is trying to see the origin of the blood, as well as think of when such a wound would have occurred during their travels as she presses one of the cloths to Lexa's abdomen and applies liberal pressure.

"Ah!" Lexa hisses, then returns to her stoic state. Her fingers burrowing into the dry dirt besides her is not missed by Abby, "It happened before I left Polis."

************100***********100********100***********

FLASHBACK

 _Lexa walked back from the balcony, unable to watch Clarke depart from the city. She decides to go instead to Clarke's room, or at least what used to be Clarke's room, to take comfort in the lingering scent of the blonde—one of berries and sweat—while it remained. Normally, Lexa would not allow herself such a ridiculous indulgence, there were better ways to squander time, but today for the first time in what felt like a new lifetime, Lexa felt like she deserved a few hours to reminisce, too appreciate what had been hers, what was arguably still hers, just with some distance in between. She refused to pine for Clarke in her absence, but would look after their memories together, both good and bad—to make a masterpiece you must light fire to the kiln._

 _At the risk of being cliché, her time lying with Clarke had been one of the best moments of her life. Sex was not in any way frowned upon in her culture, nor was she forbidden from having it herself—despite Titus' attestations—but matters of the heart were not where her strengths lied. But_ being _with Clarke, it was a rare moment in which she was human. Not an animal satisfying a need, not a leader making a choice, but just Lexa expressing love in its most holistic light._

 _Lexa made it to Clarke's room, and looked on the door fondly, her eyes appreciating its nature._

 _Then she noticed the door was not closed properly, and her brow furrowed in confusion at the crack of light spilling through. She had left through the door not an hour ago, following Clarke to meet Octavia and wish them safe passage, the click of the handle engaging the frame ringing in her memory._

 _She cautiously opened the door the rest of the way and padded inside. There was seemingly nobody. The bed was a mess, the afternoon light bathing the floor, warming her bare feet._

 _Then she looked out at the balcony and noticed a familiar form. Though surprised to see him, Lexa did not consider anything insidious until she looked past his oddly squared shoulders, the silhouettes of two young skaikru women on horseback on the street below, and the shaking gun between them._

 _"_ _Titus?!" Lexa asked incredulously. Her teacher spun on his shaking knees, the tremors in his hands as evident as the tears in his eyes._

BANG! _It happens instantly. She says his name, his finger already cocked on the trigger, he turns and it happens. It was an accident, he swears by the moon and the stars. He had the best intentions. Lexa brings a hand to her chest, just below her ribs, feeling the fire rip her open but only being able to drop to one knee. Titus throws the weapon away, weeping and helping her to the floor._

 _"_ _Forgive me, Heda." He urges and runs to the door to call for help._

 _Lexa gasps for air on the best day of her life; Clarke rides through the city gates towards home._

************100***********100********100***********

PRESENT TIME

"One of my people made an attempt on Clarke's life." Lexa mumbles. "As she was leaving Polis, to return to Arkadia."

Abby stares at the face that is staring at the sky, still applying light pressure to the pad of material over the source of blood, "Lexa, are you telling me you were shot in the chest a week ago?"

Lexa misses the mystified sound in Abby's voice, and simply nods, unsure of what she said Abby could not have understood. "My healers addressed the wound, and the guilty has been dealt with."

The older woman is still floored, "You took a bullet for Clarke?"

"It wasn't as dramatic as you think. I walked in on one of my advisors with a skaikru weapon, aiming for her and Octavia as they rode through the gates. I startled him." Lexa's aloof answer only twists Abby in a tighter knot. The Commander had saved Clarke's life—even incidentally, as she claimed—and had said nil about it. Why? Why pretend nothing had happened? Why create and execute this rescue plan that promised her wounded body more torture? The Chancellor was well aware that the Commander did not make decisions from the heart, so she knew that Lexa was not risking death from this wound just for Clarke's sake.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Abby begins wiping away surrounding blood, baffled by its color, and even more baffled by the person it ran through.

"I have already told you, I am not your responsibility."

"Am I so untrustworthy that you would rather die than talk to me?" Abby mutters under her breath.

"Aren't I?" Lexa returns just as softly.

Abby clenches her jaw, frustrated. Instead of fueling the argument she asks, "How do you feel?" pressing another cloth on top of the one already saturated and stuck to the wound, "I need you to be honest."

Lexa exhaled slowly, "The pain's not as bad as when it first happened. But it's getting more difficult to breathe."

"When did the fever start?"

"I believe the wound reopened before we left Arkadia, but I didn't start feeling unwell until last light."

Abby silently curses. She let her hate for Lexa interfere with her ability to notice a fever; and Lexa's bullheadedness in trying to conquer the world while broken open was not helping. She retracts one hand and uses it to dutifully fish for the small wallet of medicines she brought with her. "I'm going to give you something for the pain. It'll help with the fever, too."

Lexa manages to make eye contact with the doctor, "Will it dull my senses?" She knows very little about _Skaikru_ medicine, other than what her healers had reported Clarke had taught them in exchange for knowledge of their own practices. She knows there are methods of putting people unconscious for unpleasant treatments, though, and as appealing as that notion is in her current state, Lexa feared that caliber of darkness—which was fueled by her and Abby's mutual distrust for one another.

The doctor answers, "Yes, it can make you drowsy."

Lexa gives a small shake of her head, "I don't want that."

"Commander—"

"I would like to be alert for as long as possible, please." The please was strange, and unnecessary. It rang as loudly as it did softly. She realizes that Lexa is hyperaware of how Abby now controls her fate. With the 'please', she is conceding, admitting that she is too weak to defend herself against the Sky Woman.

Abby sighed. She was not keen on the idea of letting the girl suffer unnecessarily, but then again if she had to choose anyone on earth for her to feel the least guilty about a situation like this it would be the Commander.

"Okay, here, put your hands here," Abby is moving Lexa's hands for her, pushing down on the wad of cotton on her wound, "Good, keep a little pressure, good. Don't move. I'm going to get a fire going and set up camp really quick before it starts getting dark. Then I'm going to fix you up, alright?"

Lexa nods again, in little position to agree or disagree.

Ideally, Abby wants to examine Lexa as soon as possible, but with the encroaching evening and the unpredictable rain, she knows it would be wiser to get shelter and fire going now before it was too late. She does not go more than a few meters to collect kindling and firewood. It's definitely one of her weakest survival skills, making a fire. She's seen the Hundred do it with just sticks, and Markus, too, but she needs to use a small serrated bit of metal and an iron stick Raven had made for her and a few others in case of emergency. She lights a small fire beside Lexa, who has closed her eyes, and then sets about making their shelter. She doesn't have a tent, but has a small square of canvas she ties between the trees to make some sort of crude covering. _"At a slight angle,_ " Octavia's voice is in her head, reminding her not to tie it flat, otherwise rainwater can collect on in and it could rip or fall.

Once the crude shelter is cast, Abby kneels beside Lexa. "Commander, I'm going to take a look at your wound now, okay?" The girl does not open her eyes, and instead only gives a hushed "yes", as if she has any semblance of control over what Abby does or doesn't do.

Abby gently moves Lexa's hands away and peels back the wad of cloth resting beneath her sternum. Abby's not sure why she was expecting a simple black hole leading down to Lexa's insides, but she's greeted by a weeping, black wound, circular and the size of a coin, with a crude incision the length of her index finger running through it, it occurs to her that the grounders must have removed the bullet, and it simply hadn't gone straight through. It's not bleeding freely, but it wells and seeps black blood. It was obviously swollen, too, like a fist punching through her gut from behind, red and blistered; black veins extend from its edges as if something inside is straining to escape, and it gives a waft of rotting flesh. Abby stares at the damage undeniably shaken. _How was she traveling in this condition? Why did she not seek help? Why didn't she say anything?_ "Your people removed the bullet?"

"Yes. They had some trouble. There was actually talk of contacting you for assistance." Lexa nearly grins, and Abby looks on, confused as to why that was being construed as a joke.

"I'm going to touch you, okay?" Abby asks. Lexa passively wonders why she ends every one of her sentences in a question—it was obvious she was not asking permission. Abby tentatively pressed on the areas surrounding it, noting the heat it gave off; unsurprisingly, the pressure she created forced surreal amounts of pus and clear exudate from the edges of the wound. Lexa had her mouth clamped shut with Abby's ministrations, her head tipped back with her chin towards the sky, fighting making any noise.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts." Abby said softly, sincerely.

"It's fine." Lexa sounds remarkably calm and unstrained, despite the appearance of the rest of her.

"Can you roll over? I need to see your back."

As it turns out, no, Lexa cannot roll over. It was as if every passing minute demanded twice as much energy as the minute proceeding it, siphoning every last bit of strength she has. She feels strange, thin and watered down, far away but unable to escape.

"I'm going to turn you on your side," Abby explains, "Just for a minute, but it's going to be painful. Do you understand?"

There's that questioning again. Maybe the _Skaikru_ struggle with simple directions, and need constant reinforcement.

Abby places a hand on her hip and a hand on her shoulder and takes care to roll her, providing constant support with one hand as the other trails down her back, marking each rib. The glimpse of the terribly purple and black, menacing bruise she had gotten earlier had not done the lesion justice. It poured over her back, inking out an elemental tattoo that adorned her spine, and overrides the last seven ribs on Lexa's right side.

Lexa welcomes the pain, the struggle, the breathlessness—it reminds her that she still lives.

"I think the bullet ricocheted off one or two of your ribs. I can feel some breaks, and there's some internal bleeding." Abby says methodically. Lexa initiates a motion to turn back to her original position, letting Abby and gravity finish the work. Abby internally wondered how Lexa was possibly tolerating laying on her back.

"Lexa," Abby says with a sudden serious more severe than it had been, "I have to go back for help."

"No." Lexa said simply. Like refusing wine at dinner.

"Look, you have an infection. This can kill you, do you understand? We will get the girls back from the Ice Nation, but you can't continue like this—"

"No, Abby." Lexa shifted, miraculously managing to lean up on her elbows, "We're wasting time. I will continue as far as possible. If I cannot make it to _Azgeda_ , continue on alone."

"I've already told you, I have no influence over the Ice Nation, and no bargaining power for the girls. Ontari's messenger swore no harm would come to them as long as you denounced the thirteenth clan. She has to hear it from you that you are removing _Skaikru_ from the alliance."

"And what do you think happens when we stand before Ontari in her own court, amongst her witnesses, and denounce the coalition? Hm? You think she'll just relinquish Clarke and Octavia and then let us walk back out of the gates?"

"Then we go to Polis and get your armies."

"We've been through this." Lexa laid back. She refused to argue in circles, she was not a mule tilling a pasture, "Marching on _Azgeda_ means war. Relinquishing _Skaikru_ from the protection of the coalition means massacre. We will get Clarke and Octavia back, and we will do it without sacrificing a population."

Abby sighs. It burns her to know the Lexa, of all people, is right. "And what about you? This is serious. I can't believe the wound hasn't killed you—but I can promise the infection will."

And then Lexa does something that makes Abby wholly uncomfortable; she smirks.

The irony of Clarke and Abby's similarities is not lost on Lexa, but where just two weeks ago Clarke joked about Lexa's inability to stop talking about the subject of her death, Abby now promises it. Lexa is not one for smiling, but in this she cannot help but smirk.

"If this is where my fight ends, then so be it." The quirk of her mouth and the light in her eyes is gone as fast as it came, and she says, "I will do what I must. I have been through worse, Chancellor."

Abby is about to say something in regards to the seriousness of Lexa's wound, and realized the hole the bullet had torn through her was not what she was referring to.

***********100***********100********100***********


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Abby soaks another cloth in water she has boiling beside the fire. She precariously wrings it out and folds it neatly into a square, letting it dance from hand to hand to spare herself the heat of the water. She lays the square over Lexa's wound, eliciting a cry of pain. Abby uses one hand to press the cloth down, to draw the pus and toxins from the open edges of flesh, and the other hand absentmindedly strokes Lexa's hair. "Shh, I know, I know, it's okay," she hums soothingly, present company ignored. Lexa is not so unwell that she doesn't wonder if _Skaikru_ healers were trained to pour their emotions into everything—all the rest of _Skaikru_ did anyway. Lexa can also not help but appreciate the notion. Even as she struggles to breathe and her vision clenches in and out, there is something so wildly commiserating about the simple touch.

Once the cloth cools she rinses it and begins the process again. Five, six, seven times until the cloths run clean.

Lexa makes a request, under her breath, for her either cauterize or suture the wound closed, wrinkle the gap between laying here in the dirt and arriving in _Azgeda_. Abby explains that until the infection was better under control, it was best to leave it open.

"Let me give you something. You're in too much pain."

Again, Lexa refuses.

"Why not? Why suffer like this? Damn your senses, it's not like you are in any condition to fight anyway!" Abby says harshly. Why subject herself to agony? It made no sense. Abby had studied the grounder culture through Octavia, and while they were naturalistic and somewhat simple in their ways of medicine, they were in no way masochistic. They had herbs and teas and poultices to treat pains and maladies, so she knew that Lexa's refusal of relief was not from a cultural standpoint. "You need to rest. You don't deserve this." _You are in this condition because you saved Clarke's life_ , she thinks for the first time.

The girl looks at the healer and sees a strange worry behind her eyes. "It is not because I want to suffer. I can't sleep." Lexa says quietly. She could not afford to dream, to face the Spirit of the Commander and risk being told she was making the wrong choice. The majority of the lives before hers ended in battle—how could she be willing to let hers end in the name of peace?

************100***********100********100***********

FLASHBACK

 _Two healers lean over her where she remains on the floor, cutting away her shirt and pressing cloth and moss to the wound. Titus is at her head, still weeping._

 _Lexa give quiet orders that no one is to know of her condition, and no one is to know of Titus' actions. Even as she felt the life leaking out of her body in hot waves, she placed her people first. She knew that if it was discovered that the Flamekeeper—who was perceived with the highest regard—had shot her with a Skaikru weapon in an attempt to murder Wanheda, Lexa's strides for change, call for peace, would unravel._

 _"_ _Be calm, teacher," the Commander whispers._

 _He has her face in his hands, "Heda, forgive me. It was not my intention—"_

 _"_ _Titus,_ Jus drein nou jus daun." _She wills him to listen to her soft words, "I know you fear change, but what we're working for—for peace—is not to undo the ways of our predecessors, but to solidify it. It is those who adapt which thrive." It was strange, this feeling that had come over her. Where there was usually rage now was understanding. She did not want anger to be the fuel of her final words. She thought of the irony of Titus betraying what he thought was his most important lesson—Love is weakness—obviously he had failed to adhere to that. Without his apologies or explanations, Lexa knew he had not tried to harm Clarke for the sake of making her suffer, but in his convoluted attempt to protect Lexa._

 _He had been ever-present, both mother and father, teacher and trainer. He had watched her prevail at the conclave, guided her when she lacked knowledge or experience, counseled her as he had done for the Commanders that came before her. And he was there when Costia both entered and exited her life. There when Lexa formed the coalition. Beside her when she suggests betraying Wanheda and bargaining with the Mountain. Been at the door when she limps in from battles. Catches her scraping carrots off her plate and back into the bowl when the chef was turned around—as she always had since she was a child. He had seen her cry. He watched her change the world._

 _Lexa feels inexplicable tears in her own eyes. "Should my fight end, serve the next as you have served me. You must promise me you will not try to harm Clarke again. She is not the enemy, she is just new. Do not fear what you do not yet understand."_

 _"_ _I swear it. Leksa." He bows his head to hers as she closes her eye. One of the healers is speaking, saying something that must be important, but she does not hear._

 _"_ _Then there is nothing to forgive," she exhales._

 _She did not fear death. She anticipated change._

************100***********100********100***********

PRESENT TIME

"Don't bother. You should go on without out me." The Commander whispers as she watches the doctor prepare another cloth in the boiling water. She had tried and failed several times to stand, and had realized that this is where her journey ended. The Commander resigned to laying in the dirt and grass beneath the trees; she felt well and truly terrible. The pain from the wound was not as crippling as it had been when she first met the bullet, but it burned with a heat that radiate out, pressing into her chest and down into her gut, and now at random intervals a sharp exaggerated spike of pain would pulse through her middle and steal her breath away. Beyond that, her broken ribs searing with each breath, her head pounded with each beat of her heart and her muscles and joints ached deeply. She was most bothered by the weakness; the fever was consuming—consuming her energy and strength and mind.

"We've been through this." Abby says in a definitive tone.

"This is not a smart choice," Lexa admonished under her breath, "Go and tell Ontari what I have told you—"

The doctor was not having it, "It may not be the smart thing, but it is the _right_ thing. I'm just supposed to leave you to die in the woods and then go explain to the Ice Nation to pretty please give Clarke back because you suddenly discovered a conscience about blood having blood?"

"All the blood I have both demanded and excused has been in the name of my people— _our_ people." Lexa hisses. "The decisions I make are not to make me _feel better_ , or to make me a hero or a martyr, or to make me happy. Blood must _not have_ blood now, because that is what our people need—a chance to be extant—not because I feel guilty of the time when blood _did_ call for blood."

"Well I'm sorry, Commander, but I don't see the distinction. I want Clarke and Octavia back, believe me; Clarke is my _daughter_ for god sake, I would sacrifice the world for her—"

"You sacrificed her _to_ the world, Chancellor."

"Excuse me?" Abby practically spits.

"We're not so different, you and I." Lexa does not mean to say it—she feels like it cheapens what she told Clarke in TonDC, about being born to lead. "Destined in the service of others. Our lives are not our own. You already have sacrificed your daughter, the day you sent her here from the stars." The Commander had the Chancellor's eyes transfixed on her own, unyielding, "Tell me, is that so different than what I did at Mount Weather?"

The veins that run through the Chancellor's temples undulate under the skin as she clenches her jaw but does not speak. The Commander continues in her hushed voice, "Don't mistake my words for an insult, I actually want you to know how much I respect you for it. You did what had to be done, for your people. You know that, don't you?"

Abby is…confused…She wants more than anything for Lexa to stop talking—she's just a child, how could she possible know what she's talking about. This girl was the reason Clarke had to murder Finn, slaughter the Mountain, the reason why her daughter disappeared for months without a trace, the reason they had lived in fear for so long—couldn't she just be responsible for the earth being a living hell?

But…but she's also right; it is not Lexa's fault that Abby sent Clarke here in the first place. The only peace Abby could every take away from dropping her daughter out of the sky was that she was protecting Clarke from the death of the Ark. But that wasn't true. Sure, officially the Hundred were sent to earth to test its habitability—like rats in a lab—but Abby had told herself it was better than suffocating aboard the dying Ark. But that was a lie, she had let Clarke go knowing that this was the end of her little girl as she knew her—for the sake of the others on the Ark, for the sake of herself.

The older woman is also confused with how consoling it was to have another person tell her that it was okay, that she had done the right thing—not Kane or Jaha who aimed to ease her guilt, but from the one person she trusted to not give a damn about her feelings.

Abby asks, almost to herself, "If your life is not your own, how can you possibly value others'?"

"Ah, Chancellor, I think you are confusing the concept of possession with the concept of value. The air I breathe is not mine to keep, but I can appreciate its importance."

************100***********100********100***********


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

"You're not going to like the next part," she tells the Commander in a sad sigh.

Well she's right about that.

Abby packs the wound with a wet coil of sterile cloth, explaining beforehand that it would help to drain the wound and draw the infection out even further. Lexa did not realize when she was explaining 'pack the wound' would entail shoving a boiled strip of cotton inside her open body; had she understood that she might have refused when the doctor pulls her into her lap, propping her against a raised knee and asks "Are you ready?"

Lexa was an old friend of pain, a lifetime of training and battles and forging survival had made her wonted of it; it was a lesson to mistakes and missteps and failed dodges. But this was different. She exhales as instructed and the healer uses her index finger to push the end of the cloth into the cavity the bullet had made earlier in the week. She opens her mouth to scream Abby's opposite hand immediately shoves a leather strap of Lexa's armor inside, muffling the noise as the girl instinctively bit down.

Abby holds her against her, still feeding the cloth into the wound. Lexa finds inhuman strength to writhe and seek escape as she wails against the leather fabric, and still Abby holds her, "It's okay, shh, it's going to be okay. Shh, almost done, shh," until she retracts her finger from the wound for the last time with a soft squelching noise, a small tail of the cloth hanging from the hole to draw pus and waste out through capillary action, as well as keep more microorganisms from calling the wound 'home'; her hand dripping with Lexa's black blood. The last of Lexa's screams die against the gag. Abby unconsciously rocks back and forth a little, her chin resting atop Lexa's sweat-matted hair, still making soothing coos as the younger woman grapples to draw in enough oxygen through her nose.

The doctor makes quick work of wrapping Lexa's ribs as best she can in the elastic bandage she had the sense to pack with the rest of her first aid supplies, and lays her back in the dirt. Reaching for her canteen she uses a rationed amount from her ever-dwindling water supply to rinse her hands clean, then unceremoniously pours some into the Commander's mouth.

Lexa swallows the water without protest, her eyes never leaving the Chancellor. The older woman does not notice the apt attention, and has busied herself with organizing what was left of her first aid supplies.

The soft light of the fire and the even-softer rays of the setting sun cast hillocks and valleys in the woman's face. Lexa notes the shallow folds of skin around her eyes and around the corners of her mouth, making pouches of the years and emotions worn there. She remembers a conversation she had with Indra, in which Octavia had made a joke about her First's age. Indra did not take offense to what Octavia had intended to be sarcasm—something along the lines of still training with grey hair _Grandma_ —but later mentioned to the Commander in a rare moment of causal conversation. _Skaikru_ did not value aging as _Trikru_ did; apparently too many turns of the seasons were cause for mockery and inferred weakness and friability. But Lexa was raised with the concept that those who reach advanced ages commanded respect for their life experience and knowledge and strength to survive in a world which was unforgiving and thirsty. Lexa somewhat admired the wrinkles on Abby's face.

The Commander speaks suddenly, startling the Chancellor, "If I die, can you make sure my body is returned to Polis?"

Abby looks at her with hard eyes, her hands fiddling with the packets of protein powder she was rearranging. She does not tell the girl not to think like that, or to not say such things, she does not insist that she was going to live and that all would be well. She simply says, in almost a whisper, "Yes."

The Commander admires that, too. "Thank you, Abby." And she finally closes her eyes.

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	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Despite Abby's best efforts, Lexa worsens with the rising moon.

Soon she is unarousable, and she shakes with her climbing fever. Though she is seemingly unconscious, her eyes are open the tiniest crack, and they weep lubricating tears. Abby takes the opportunity to remove two pre-loaded syringes from her drug-pack and injects the girl with a weak antimicrobial she knows will have no effect, and an opioid stronger than the NSAID she had offered several hours ago; rationalizing that she could not dull any senses that were not currently in use. She packs the empty syringes away in the case.

She was concerned with the internal bleeding—suspicious that it is partially collapsing one of her lungs—but not as much as she is concerned with the damage her healers had done when haphazardly digging around her insides for the bullet, which obvious went in at an angle and bounced around, tearing through viscera and vessel alike. Without her tools and resources from the Ark, the doctor can only hope that the light pressure she applies with the dressings will slow the internal bleeding. Next, she works off the girl's filthy shirt. Knowing there is no spare to replace it, she does not want to cut it off, and then the armor she had been laying on top of for hours from underneath her. After a moment's consideration, she then goes on to remove the scabbard and sword from the commander's waist, and combs over her legs and in her boots, collecting various daggers. Abby wonders when was the last time the child slept without a blade in reach.

It was strange. Abby was unfazed by nudity; much like Raven with an engine, Abby could appreciate a body for what it was, a sum of its parts. And the commander was far from naked—with the bindings and wound dressings the only exposed skin on her were her shoulders and the surface area between her navel and the waistband of her pants—but there was something wholly intimate about stripping her of her weapons; not that it made her not a drop less nocuous.

She lays the armor and blades out neatly, but out of reach.

Abby positions her backpack underneath the girl's head and shoulders, hopefully reducing some pressure from her broken ribs. She shrugs her jean jacket off and lays it over Lexa.

The woman works methodically, purposefully. She takes a small amount of their remaining water and washes Lexa's shirt, it is stiff and crusty with several days' worth of pus and blood. She wonders who does grounder laundry? Until last week she had a hard time fathoming the grounders as anything but violent, burly warriors; after seeing Polis, she knew that that was only one occupation. There were farmers and storytellers and chefs and jewelry makers; hunters and teachers and animal caretakers and seamstresses. The world was both bigger and smaller than she ever imagined it could be.

Once the blood was out of Lexa's shirt, Abby hung it beside the fire to dry. She considered eating one of her MRE's, but decided to wait until Lexa was awake.

She found herself sitting beside Lexa, passing a damp cloth over her face. It won't do much for the fever, she knows, but it was a small comfort to keep from idle hands. She removed the last of the war paint, and dutifully wiped away sweat as it beaded up on her face.

In between crackling breaths, she moans in her sleep. Abby hushes her softly, making quiet, empty promises that it would all be better in the morning. Abby raises an eyelid one at a time, and inspects Lexa's gums for paleness. She takes her pulse again, which thumps excitedly under her skin. She presses an ear to her chest and listens to the rales of her breathing. It passes through Abby's mind that Lexa may not survive this. How could she survive out here alone? What would she do if another grounder came upon her with the body of the commander? What would she tell Clarke?

She needed to go for help. The only assistance Abby could think of was a two-day trek back to Arkadia. Returning in the rover would be only a matter of hours, but that was still two more days out of their window to rescue the girls. Not to mention she was low on water, and could not be certain that she would not get lost. She was not positive the way to Azgeda, not that she could go there alone and negotiate Clarke and Octavia's lives, that she was certain of. The Commander was in no condition to move anywhere of her own volition, and Abby could not carry her. Even if she could, it was not like she could arrive at the gates of the Ice Nation with the dying Commander slung over one shoulder and demand the return of her daughter. She also could not be left alone; Abby could only imagine the implications of the Commander dying alone in the forest because she left her—and the implications of the Commander dying under her care were probably the same.

The only solution was that the Commander had to live.

 _Okay, great, brilliant, Abby_ , the doctor thought to herself, _You want to think how?_

"Mhmm," Lexa groans in her sleep, her eyebrows knitting together even further in fitful unrest.

Abby returns to wiping her face with the cloth, damning it for being nearly dry. She prays for rain as she spares the tiniest bit of water from her canteen onto the rag.

 _Water._ Abby freezes, her attention turning from the Commander to the east, to the darkness, to the memory of Lexa claiming there was a trading post nearby.

She springs into action, not waiting for doubts and logic to change her mind. She places several more bits of wood on the fire, double checks the integrity of the canvas covering, moves the line of weapons closer to the unconscious girl—just in case—and adjusts Lexa's propped up position on her backpack and the stability of her wounds. As she tucks the jean jacket tightly around the girl, Abby speaks, "God, I hope I'm doing the right thing," her words falling on deaf ears, "I'm going to be right back, I promise. Please stay asleep. It's going to be okay, I'm going to come back with help."

She cups Lexa's sweaty, pained face and wills her to keep breathing until her return. And with that the Chancellor stands and begins running in the direction she prays she will find a saving grace.

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	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

When the Commander opens her eyes, she is somewhat disoriented. She stared at not the trees, but a beige sky, the small campfire providing a life-giving heat beside her casts its dancing light on the canvas above. It's raining; the rolling sound brings her back to the surface of consciousness kindly.

Before she looks around, she knows she is alone. She can feel it, the solitude, her dear friend.

The Chancellor has left her. Good. It was the smart thing to do. Lexa hopes Abby is able to bring Clarke and Octavia home safely, without doing anything stupid.

When she finally musters the strength to lift her pounding head, she casts her gaze to the left and to the right, confused by her sword neatly beside her out of its scabbard, the hilt nearly touching her but still impossibly out of reach, and then down at herself. _Foolish_ , she thinks spitefully. The Chancellor has left behind her coat, wrapped it around her in a final act of comfort. Lexa lets her head lay back, all her energy spent on the small action.

It's difficult to breath—her chest feels impossibly full, but she still thirsts for air. The pain is still there, tearing through her, accentuated with each pull for breath. And the heat of the fever confuses her, both much too hot and much too cold. Still, if this was death it was not unwelcome. Lexa was slowly getting farther and farther away from herself. Death was not a pulling, suffocating thing, it was not surrender; it was something either earned or dealt, a wave that laps at the sand then withdraws and returns—it looks the same but the water is different than the one before.

Lexa had always thought she would die in the daytime—was that strange? She could not explain it. She did not fantasize or obsess about her death, despite Clarke's jesting that she talked of nothing else, but it was far from taboo. She was not born to yank and roll time between her fingers; people are meant to die, life had no value if there was no price. Her time was not her own, her life was not her own—she talked about her death because _it_ was not her own. She was a resource to her people, and people must be prepared when a resource is extinguished.

Still, she had always thought her fight would end in the sunlight; she would see the cause of the end and then _blink_ she would be over. Though, she did not think she would be alone. She could not gauge whether she was bothered or not—not that she had any control over it—but she also felt that someone else would be there to bear witness. How does a book close without a person to bring the covers together?

But here she was, the chasm widening, alone beneath a moon she could not see. She never had been unrealistic, even as a child when such things were acceptable. She was not one for pretend. When even the older children of her conclave would train and play that they were mighty and big, often claiming names of well-known war heroes or commanders of the past, she would never be anyone but herself. Why would she want to be another? If the Commander's Spirit was to choose her, would it not choose _Leksa_ ; not one pretending to be another?

She would not pretend now. She would not pretend Costia was with her, guiding her; nor Clarke holding her hand—she did not need such things that were not true, and did not take comfort in them. She would not pretend she was not apprehensive, not pretend she was not unsure that she had lead her people in the right path, not pretend she did not wish to say goodbye to those who it mattered to. The loss of her as _Heda_ was not what worried her—the loss of her as Lexa is what made her…sad. She knew her spirit would live on in the Flame—her story was over but her book would remain on the shelf for others to read—but even so, she hoped she lived on through another way—through her actions. Not just in the soul of the Commander to follow, but in the lives of her people, in the changes she brought to them, in their memories of her.

In the lull of the rain, the scent of sweat and hard work and lemongrass emanating from the jacket surrounding her, the comfort of knowing she had earned this. Lexa relaxes further against the earth. _Peace._

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	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

"Of course!" Abby screams. _Of course, it was raining now._ Not three hours ago when she needed it, but now, as she slides ungracefully down the hill. The first few drops had been welcome, she had chanced to stop and open her mouth and let the rain sooth her parched throat, cool her sweaty face. But after mere minutes of the sky opening up, she was freezing, the rain obscuring the darkness impossibly further, making the terrain that much more difficult.

Abby was not a runner. A lifetime in space, in combination with her age and innate hate of the gym on the Ark, and the past two days of aggressive hiking with rationed food and water, had her limbs and chest aching before Lexa was even out of site. She had taken to letting the muddy ground glide her down the hills—helpful; but the other side of that coin was she had to trudge _up_ the muddy hills, too—not helpful.

She scrapes trees she can't see and trips repeatedly on roots and rocks and god knew what else. There is no way for her to be certain that she has continued in the right direction—she didn't even know how far she was supposed to go. She damns her decision to leave the Commander and contemplates turning around and going back.

Abby was not used to idea of not succeeding; she was raised with the knowledge that she was smart, destined to excel. She was not used to feeling helpless, and certainly not used to being unhelpful. On the Ark, despite its shortcomings in politics and moral code, she was at home—the only home she had ever known; the place she first brought a man back to life, the place where she fell in love, the place where she raised her child. The place where an entire population looked up to her, needed her, and she provided for them.

But here she was, an alien on Earth, where was the inception of her species, lost. Lost in her way as a leader, lost to her people as a harbinger of safety, lost to her position as a mother, and quite literally lost in the woods right now, unable to save a single person.

She wants to go back. Back in time, back in space, back in history. Back to the stars, back to a people who needed her, back to a daughter who wanted her.

She's cold and tired and uncertain of every move she makes. She tries to draw the line between failure and defeat, and decide which side of it she is on. She slows, ready to resign to being on the side of the former, when she looks down to the base of the hill she had somehow made to the top of, and sees what is at first a floating orange square.

The woman catches her breath. While it is too dark to see the building itself, the small glow of candlelight from inside of it illuminates the window. She tears down the hill towards it—a moth to a flame—thanking the earth for what is probably the first for its pull of gravity.

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She practically slams into the door as she screeches to a halt at the stone hut—part of her wonders if this is not the place the Commander had told her about, it's so small she hardly believes it can serve as a trading post.

Without hesitation, she raps her fist against the wooden door, which creaks and jiggles in its frame from her force.

Save for the rain, her knock is followed by eerie, unsettling silence. Abby is about to knock again when it suddenly rips opens.

On the other side of the threshold towers the biggest human being Abby has ever seen. He fills the frame, blocking the view of the inside of the hut, and much of the light too, so that all she can make out is a towering silhouette, the breadth of the shoulders touching each side of the jamb, the head ducking slightly to clear the top.

"Um," Abby swallows, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I need your help." She hadn't worked out what she was going to say, and she had to admit that her opening line wasn't great.

The figure remains still and silent.

"I am traveling with a girl, and she's been hurt. I left her about an hour from here." Abby continues, trying to maintain her nerve.

When no reply is made, it dawns on Abby that the man may not speak English. She cursed to herself. "Um, hold on, how do I explain—" she fumbles with something at the back of her belt and makes to remove it.

The mountain of a man before her suddenly has her by the throat and is holding her well off the ground. He moved with inhuman speed, reaching behind Abby with his other arm and encasing her wrist and hand in his grip. He painfully wrenches her arm from behind her back, revealing what she was retrieving from her belt.

Abby scrabbles for breath, her free hand tugs uselessly at his grip around her neck, attempting to relieve some of the pressure, "Gh! No, wait!" she begs with a tiny voice as he inspects the Commander's dagger in their shared grasp.

His features are still dim, and now were becoming fuzzy around the edges as Abby fought to breathe, and he inclines his head a little to see the small infinity symbol emblazoned on the blade.

He lowers Abby to her feet, on which she barely maintains as she gasps for air, still holding the dagger—and her hand—in his fist. He looks at her, she realizes the lower portion of his face is covered by a bandana, the only thing she can see are the blue depths of his eyes—a blue like Clarke's, a blue that reflects the rain.

Abby coughs and says the only word she can think of, " _Heda."_

He drops her hand and the knife and wriggles out of the door to stand with her on the wafer-sized porch, closing the door behind him. He stands looking down at her without a word, waiting.

"Okay," Abby says tensely, trying her best to sound sure and unshaken, "This way."

She never thought she'd be so happy to return into the rain.

He follows, maybe a little too closely for comfort, and Abby hopes, once again, that she is making the right decision.

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	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

FLASHBACK—LEXA LEARNS THAT CLARKE HAS BEEN TAKEN

 _The Commander awoke to arguing, harsh teeth-y whispers invading her sleep. She cracks a single eye and looks towards her two healers, who are bickering quietly by the door of her chambers._

 _"_ _What is it?" she asks in supreme annoyance, startling the pair. For the life of her she could not comprehend why they chose to work together. The man, Nerov, was younger than his trainer, her name was Katerin; both of them were older than the Commander, and both of them were much too old to quarrel like children constantly. They had kept constant vigil over their Heda for the past three days, and had not shut up for the majority of it—disagreeing on everything, from if it was appropriate to sit on the edge of Lexa's sickbed, to if her bandages were tied too tight, to the smell of the teas they brewed in the hearth._

 _The pair look dubiously back at her, then to each other. Katerin is the one who turns and approaches. She bows when she speaks, "Heda. Our apologies, we did not mean to disturb you."_

 _Lexa moves to sit up, the healer asks permission to aid her as she fails. The Commander nods and Katerin gently guides her shoulders up. "What is the disagreement about this time?"_

 _When Katerin hesitates Nerov steps forward, "Heda, Azgeda has sent a messenger."_

 _Lexa closes her eyes and breathes deeply, pressing back the burning in her chest from the bullet, and the curdling in her gut from his sentence. "With what news?"_

 _Nerov bows deeply and unnecessarily, probably so that he does not have to look his Heda in the eyes, "King Roan's fight is over."_

 _It takes a lot to surprise the Commander, at least she thinks so, but as the young man says this sentence Leksa can feel her mouth open of its own accord._ No.

 _Nerov remains awkwardly bowed at the waist, and Heda narrows her eyes, recovering quickly, "What else is there?"_

 _Katerin steps back beside her partner, bowing identically to him, and answers in his stead, "Wanheda and Okteivia's detail never arrived in Arkadia. I'm sorry, Heda, you should have been told sooner. Ontari is holding them as prisoners of war."_

 _Heda has risen to her feet long before Katerin stops speaking, the female healer moves to help her. She orders, "Katerin, get me my clothes." She looks to the other, "Nerov, first get me the messenger. Then, get me Indra."_

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PRESENT TIME

The rain had died down to a sprinkle, and was now unnoticeable.

The Chancellor approaches the still form of the Commander. The fire nearly had gone, and it was hard to see, but it appeared that she had not moved from where Abby had left her.

"Commander," Abby calls, inexplicably in a whisper as soon as she's in sight. She finishes that last few yards in a sprint, sliding in clumsily beside the body, "Commander?"

The girl stirs for nothing, unmoving and muscles locked in silent agony. She's quite obviously alive, Abby could hear her groping for breath before she was beside her. She finds Lexa's wrist beneath the thin jacket and counts her pulse.

The silent man approaches with marked caution and looms over them. Though Abby is still trying to catch her breath from the journey, he is in no sign of distress whatsoever. She had spent the majority of the trek in a jog, while her new companion matched her distance in impossibly long strides—if he had known where he was going she was certain he would have easily walked there before her. His eyes looking sadly at _Heda._

Abby cranes up at him, suddenly and painfully aware that she has no idea what she's doing. _Go to a mysterious house in the woods and get a mute giant to follow you back to where you left Lexa to die. Check. Now what?_ She doesn't even know if he understands what she's saying. "Okay, we need to—"

He begins to remove the cloak he's wearing, slow, intentional movements. He kneels—a sight Abby can only imagine is similar to what a tree would look like if it were to bow—begins draping the cloak over Lexa, starting at her feet and pooling it upward. He stops and waits as it reaches her hips, frozen in position with his hands aloft.

Abby breaks her mesmerized stare and understands that he wants her to help. "Oh," she says and gently lifts the Commander by the shoulders, tucking the cloak around her several times over.

The man nods when the task is done and in one soundless sweep he has the Commander of the Thirteen Clans cradled in his arms. He stands. The doctor follows, scooping up her backpack from where it had been supporting Lexa, collects the girl's now-dry shirt from where it lay beside the fire, as well as her armor and various weapons. So long are his arms, the man has no trouble shifting Lexa to be held in one and using the other to untie the canvas covering. It flutters to the ground as he uses a single step in his titanic of a boot to stamp out the coals of the fire.

Abby unceremoniously tosses all of the Commander's belongings onto the tarp, wraps it up, and slings it over a shoulder.

The man looks to her as if waiting for permission. She still can't really see him, he has no voice, no face, nothing but deliberate movements. The doctor looks to the Commander once more, and then locks eyes with her courier, "We need to keep her safe. And discrete."

The shadow of his head makes a single bob and he begins walking.

Abby puts her hands on her hips, tilts her head back, and inhales so deeply she might suck up the darkness of the night. Then she begins jogging behind the silent silhouette and the body he carried.

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	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Abby had fallen behind so much in her exhaustion soon she was following the sound of the Commander's wheezing rather than the sight of the nameless giant. He stops several times and turns and waits for the doctor to catch up before continuing.

The window is still illuminated when they finally arrive at the hut. Abby awkwardly shuffles in front of the man and enters the building, holding the door open for him to stoop and bring the Commander inside. She takes quick inventory of their new safe house.

It's simple, to say the least. One room, a fire in the hearth bright and warm and welcoming, some pots and pans and oddities on a wall of shelves, a small but ridiculously tall wooden table and single matching chair; on the opposite wall a single bed and a row of barrels, as tall as they were wide. It smells like leather and something Abby can't place.

The man is still in the threshold, holding the bundled Commander, where he steps on the heels of his lace-less boots and steps out of them so that he is barefoot. Using one foot he pushes the boots neatly together so that they sit beside the door. He then casts a look down at Abby and waits.

"Would you like me to take off my shoes?" The doctor asks in total bewilderment.

When he just continues to stare she takes it as a 'yes' and kicks off her boots, then picks them up and aligns them with the man's. He nods, seemingly satisfied, and moves towards the bed.

He lays _Heda_ meticulously and slow. He stands up straight, then, task complete, walks to the table, draws the chair, faces it towards the wall opposite the bed, and sits down with his back to the women. Abby watches him with an addled expression as he settles into the chair facing the wall.

It occurs to her that this is his attempt at providing them privacy. Unsure of what to say she settles on not saying anything at all and then moves into action, dropping her backpack and bundle of weapons, leaning over the Commander.

"Commander, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" the doctor asks, a hand on either side of the girl's face. Her features are strained; jaw clenched, forehead wrinkled, eyes darting under closed lids. In the quiet of the hut, the only noise other than her heavy breaths and the soft _pops_ of the fire, it was now evident that Lexa was making soft groans and pants of distress. The doctor unwraps the cloak that she is enfolded in, and then the jean jacket, and discards them on the floor. The Commander is still incredibly feverish, and now, to Abby's dismay, not sweating. She needed to figure out a way to get the girl hydrated. Her pulse is still much too fast, too. _Dammit,_ the doctor thinks, "Um, excuse me?" she says to the man's back, "Do you have any water?"

He stands and collects a clay cup from the shelving and points to one of the barrels. She can finally see him in the light of the fire. He has a lot of hair, that's the first thing she notices. It's dark in color and tied in a single braid that is twisted into a neat knot on the top of his head. His face is broad and, though still covered by a bandana tied ear to ear, Abby can tell he has sharp angles in his cheeks and nose. His eyebrows are thick and wild, like insects above his unnervingly blue eyes; crow's feet at their edges mark his age. He's also very tanned, his skin dry and wrinkled from what was probably a lifetime of working in the sun. The low ceiling of the hut made him seem even taller still, and his shoulders were wide and heavy, but his middle was not. He was also wearing nothing but different tones of brown. Brown trousers, brown hemp shirt, brown cowl, bare feet. He had no armor, and apparently no weapon.

Abby tentatively takes the cup and lifts the lid from the appointed barrel—finding it full of water. It takes everything she is not to dunk her head into the barrel. On the Ark, a reservoir of water like this was not a thing. Water was—like everything—a resource, and was monitored and rationed. Since landing on earth she had been somewhat spoiled with its availability.

"Thank you," she says, dipping the cup in and moving back towards Lexa, noting how the man kept his eyes anywhere but the bed as he moved to the hearth and started shuffling through items on the shelf. Abby wonders if there is some rule against seeing the Commander in such a condition.

She tries and fails miserably to get the Commander to drink. After three tries ending in Lexa gurgling and drooling water all over the place, Abby resigns to think of another plan. In the meantime, she checks her wounds.

She does not unbind the girl's broken ribs, but pulls the elastic away enough to inspect the open wound underneath. The tail end of the cloth that hangs from the packed wound is saturated with blood and mucus, but can stand a few more hours until it needed to be changed. Around it is still inflamed and stiff and hot to the touch, and it still smells putrid, but maybe it was a tad less swollen than several hours ago. " _Hmmhm,_ " Lexa whines in her sleep as the doctor prods her abdomen. Abby considers giving her another round of pain medicine, but decides to try and get her lucid so she can get down some fluids. She replaces the bandages and moves down to unlace the Commander's boots.

Once Abby is beside the door depositing the Commander's boots into the line of others she looks up to see the silent man pointing to the table, to a plate of unrecognizable food and a cup of hot tea. She stares blanking between him and the table until he rolls his eyes and moves the single chair in front of the plate and points again. "For me?" The Chancellor asked. He nods in return. Abby glances back to the Commander and then again at the table, feeling her body moving forward before her mind was made up. As she sits, she feels like her muscles unravel; like she's a string that's been wound so tight she was on the verge of snapping, and then someone let the ends loose. She is suddenly aware of how bone-deep exhausted she is, like she could lay on the wooden floor beneath her and sleep until she couldn't sleep anymore.

She's also starving. She looks at the plate of food, unfamiliar with the assortment of meat and berries piled high, and then to the unfamiliar face. She can't explain the tears that come to her eyes, "Thank you."

He nods and leaves her alone. He walks to where Abby had deposited Lexa's weapons, shirt, and his cloak, gathers them all into one arm, and moves to walk out the door. Abby did not care that he had all of her means of defense, or where he was going, or what he would do with the Commander's belongings—she was too relieved at the inexplicable kindness she had so far received, for the first time meeting a Grounder—to ask. Instead, before he walks totally out of the door, she calls out to him, "My name is Abby."

He pauses, looks back to her and stares quietly for a second or so, then nods again and walks out.

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	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

FLASHBACK

 _She exhaled for the first time in several hours, her fingers absentmindedly play with the Chancellor's pin on her collar. She eases herself into a chair, the phantom pain in her thigh twinges, a random reminder that the world was constantly falling to pieces. She looks to Raven, sleeping on the cot._

 _Abby can only imagine what the girl would have to say once she's awake and realizes that the doctor was acting as chancellor again._

 _Pike had arranged a mass execution of individuals suspected of corroborating with a small battalion of Grounders. Abby was not particularly clear on the details of the event, but as Marcus was trying to negotiate with him otherwise, a group of people broke into the armory and attacked Pike and his militia. Abby has a terrible suspicion that Raven had something to do with the armory security system failing, but she can't and won't try to prove anything. Raven was found in the middle of the canteen, where the bulk of the fighting had taken place, and was now settled in the medical bay with several dozen other people—so many that several were on the floor and some were out in the hall. After everything was cleaned up, the injured were treated and Pike and his radical supports were detained, a brief, non-official vote was cast and Abby was elected to act as Chancellor until anyone interested could campaign again. She did not offer herself for the position, but Marcus showed up to the med bay with the pin and the ballot, she swears this was the last time she was putting the damned thing on. Marcus only offers a sympathetic half-smile, and a cup of coffee._

 _Abby is not one for speeches, so she addressed everyone as quickly as possible, "Thank you all for your cooperation. This is only temporary, and we will hold open campaigns in one week. Those interested in the position please come talk to me. As for right now, no one is to touch Pike—he will remain in lock-up. He will be charged for his crimes against humanity once the official chancellor has been picked. Right now, we need to try and return to normalcy. If you, or someone you know, is still in possession of a weapon stolen from the armory yesterday, please return it—no questions asked, no punishments dealt._

 _"_ _Look, I know it has been hell on Earth since we got here, but look around—look what we've done. Together, we've built this place. We've fed each other. We've kept each other safe. We've loved each other. Don't let prejudice and fear steal that from you. We are_ surviving _together. Welcome home."_

 _With the applause she receives, the Chancellor ducts back inside and makes it back to med bay, where she feels most at ease._

 _Now, several hours later, after rechecking the wounded, she sinks into a chair; weary of the world ending all of the time. Not thirty seconds after her butt hits the seat, a breathless teenager—a sentry from the gate—sprints past the open med bay door. Almost comically, he realizes he's overshot his destination, turns around and slings himself into the room._

 _"_ _Chancellor," he pants, "The leader of the Grounders is here."_

 _Abby drags herself to her feet once more, "What now?"_

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PRESENT TIME

It's a terrifying, familiar noise that wakes her; the noise that haunts her nightmares, the noise she had faced too many times through the trials of an unkind life. The noise one makes after they've unwittingly drawn their last breath.

Abby had laid on the floor beside the bed, on a fur blanket the man had pointedly put there for her, after eating the simplest, most delicious meal she'd swore she'd ever had, checking Lexa's vital once more and covering the Commander in her own animal skin blanket. The Chancellor had fallen asleep almost instantly. She knew she should act with more caution, should not trust the giant grounder so easily, should try to formulate a plan on what her next steps were, but she was absolutely spent, mind, body and soul. But it seemed that no sooner had she closed her eyes was she thrown back into wakefulness by that godawful noise—a sucking, choking plead for air, that was both somehow inspiration as much as it was expiration, exaggerated in duration and depth, with a tapering yet sharp stop.

She's up at Lexa's side, who's chest is arched slightly, the rest of her bowing in, unconsciously clawing to take another breath. "Commander?!" Abby pleads loudly. The man had risen from wherever he had been and had cautiously approached.

The doctor clamps the girl's arms in her grip and lowers her ear to the Commander's chest, moving around a little, obviously in search of something.

She must find what she's looking for because she shoots up and throws the covers off the girl. She wastes no time in roughly rolling Lexa on to her side so that she faces the wall. The younger woman's body is still jerking and fighting for air that won't come; the doctor turns to the man behind her and orders, "Hold her here, don't let her move."

It is obvious he is not happy with that direction, it is not his place to put his hands on _Heda_ like that, carrying her was one thing, this is another matter entirely. But it is also obvious that the Chancellor had left no room for argument, so he awkwardly obeys. He leans over the young woman and tentatively places a massive hand on her bare shoulder, applying enough pressure to keep her where Abby wanted her.

"No, not like that," the doctor says curtly, forgetting herself, "Here, stand at the head of the bed. Good," she takes the Commander's wrist and raises her hand so that her arm rests over her head, hand hanging off the head of the bed, "One hand here, keep her arm there. Other hand here, keep her still. Good. Just like that."

He watches with wide, fretful eyes as the older woman rips through her backpack and retrieves the case of medicine. She hastily takes out one of the empty syringes she had used to drug the Commander earlier that night. She sprints to the shelves and grabs a clay bowl, then returns to the bedside. She jerks away the bandages and bindings encasing the Commander's chest—the man immediately glues his eyes to the floor and the little bit of his face that is visible flushes a bright red—and she counts the Commander's ribs as she explains, "There's blood in her chest, it's keeping her lung from being able to expand. I have to drain it so she can breathe." Abby knew from earlier that the younger woman had some internal bleeding, even that it had partially already collapsed her lung, but she figured with how old the injury was the bleeding was slow enough to heal on its own. Obviously, she had been wrong.

The doctor promptly inserts the needle of the empty syringe between the two ribs of her choosing and pulls back the plunger. In the light of the fire from the hearth, she watches it fill with black, oily blood. Once the syringe is full she pulls it out and squirts its contents into the bowl beside her, then reinserts the needle. She repeats this action twice more before she hears Lexa inhale sweetly. Abby continues, drawing as much blood off the hemothorax as she could in nearly a dozen draws from the syringe. In an ideal world, she would have placed a chest tube, and simply let that drain on its own, but this world was far from ideal, now wasn't it?

Once the syringe refuses to pull any more fluid from the girl's chest, Lexa is left with a ring of needle marks peppered between two ribs, the bowl is filled to the brim with exuded blood, and the Commander is breathing. Abby discards her tools, painstakingly rewraps Lexa's chest, and helps the man—who is now markedly pale and disturbed—lay her on her back. He risks a glance at his _Heda_ 's face, he was quite clearly sad by her condition. Abby finds herself reaching out before she can stop herself and placing a hand on his where he grips the railing at the top of the bed. "She's okay now. She's going to be fine. The Commander is _infuriatingly_ strong," she reassures softly, comfortably, as if that was something she could promise.

He looks at the woman, his eyes soft, with some unspecified wisdom, and does something that at first makes Abby flinch, then laugh. He moves beside her, looming down from his height, and pats the top of her head affectionately, like one would a child. She snorts and smiles in return at the gesture, and then he bends and picks up the bowl and syringe and walks out the door into the night. For the second time in as many hours Abby half wonders where he's going, but does not bother asking.

Once he's gone, the doctor finds herself sinking to sit on the edge of the bed. She sags at the shoulders, once again overcome with unreal exhaustion, and some measure of relief. She replaces the blanket over the Commander's prostrate form and takes the girl's wrist in her hands, at first measuring her pulse, but then after a minute she's just sitting there, holding her hand and staring at the girl. She could be anybody by the way she looked right now. A sleeping teenager with strong opinions and bad attitude, a girl who was sheepish and liked loud music, somebody's best friend to joke and trust with their darkest secrets, somebody's sweetheart to hold close and cherish. Somebody's daughter.

Abby reaches up and brushes a lock of hair from the girl's face. The smallest of gestures. She talks to her, "I'm sorry."

As soon as the words are spoken Abby can feel the dam breaking inside of her, "I'm sorry for all of this. I'm sorry I didn't forgive you sooner. You're right, our lives are not our own, and it's not fair. I understand why you did what you did. I don't know if I would have been strong enough to make the choices you have to, and I shouldn't condemn you for them. I've done some _horrible_ things in the name of survival, and I don't get to be self-righteous about them because I've suffered. We've all suffered. I'm sorry that I couldn't protect Clarke, and it makes me angry that _you_ can." Abby is crying now as she whispers and strokes Lexa's cheek with her thumb, "I feel so out of control here. Do you know what that's like? In space, I could handle everything—the schedule, peoples' behavior, illnesses, who lived and died…but here, everything is so… _unbridled_. I can't control my daughter or my people or anything that happens. I don't know what I'm doing, and I am terrified people are going to find out." Abby wipes tears with one hand "But you? _Ha!_ Then there's you. You're just a kid and you've got it all figured out."

Abby looks up and out the window and notices the blue-gray hue the night had taken on—the sun must be about to rise. She exhales, deflated, and tucks the blanket carefully around the Commander, "Nine days left the save the world."

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	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Her eyelids are not particularly compliant. It takes her multiple tries to get them to open. She cannot believe that she's not dead—but she knows she's not. She doesn't know how, but she knows deep down what it would be like, to be ethereal, for her spirit to find home in another—she doesn't feel that now. As she roams the darkness beneath closed eyes she is hyperaware of herself as she had always been, herself as Lexa.

In the darkness, the corporeal world comes to her in small waves. First is smell, a fine mix of old leather and roses—a smell that emanates what the earth is like when left alone. The next is pain, dull and welcoming, thrumming with her heartbeat throughout her chest. Then the feeling of warmth, not uncomfortable and unwell, but a cradling kind that wraps around her. There is no sound.

When she does manage to open her eyes, she is greeted with unknown. It's bright. There's someone beside her, seated on the bed, wearing woven brown hemp clothing.

"You look completely ridiculous," she says, the smallness and dryness of her own voice surprising her. With her voice comes the other sounds, the crackle of fire, the creak of the bed, the sharp inhale of the person beside her.

"I thought I was pulling it off," Abby smiles and brings a cup of something to the Commander's face, "Here, drink."

Lexa surprises herself again when she drains the cup in several gulps, unaware of how thirsty she was until the water touched her lips. The water is recognizably sweet, and she wonders what herbs are hidden in it as she looks around her unfamiliar safe haven. She doesn't ask where they were—she knows by the inside of the tidy hut and the smell of the flowers. Instead, "You should be in _Azgeda…_ What are you wearing?"

"We still have eight days. And your Goliath-friend gave me these. He's washing our other clothes," Abby refills the cup and tried to give it to Lexa.

"'Goliath'?"

"Well, I don't know his name and he doesn't talk, so I had to call him something."

"I did tell you he wouldn't say anything," the girl admits a small smile, "His name is Paul."

"Paul?" Abby chokes and then adds, "Well, he definitely doesn't look like a 'Paul'."

The Commander laughs; it surprises the other woman. She laughs with light and color, and with a force that has her wrapping her arms around her middle to support her injured chest. And when it's gone she slowly devolves back into her normal serious face.

"I've never heard you laugh before, Commander."

"You've never been funny before, Chancellor."

"Ha ha," Abby says sarcastically, "Here, you need to drink some more."

"What's in it?"

"For that, you're going to ask _Paul_."

"You don't know? How did you know he wasn't trying to poison me?" the Commander asks, but lightly.

"If he wanted you dead, then he would have just left you alone." Abby says seriously, reminding the girl of why they were here. She adds just as lightly, "Plus, he keeps feeding me. He can put whatever crap he wants into your cup."

"How diplomatic of you."

" _That_ was a joke, Commander. He is incredibly sweet, actually. How do you know him?"

The Commander has a strange look on her face, like she's looking back into the past, a look of familiarity—and to some extent fondness, "He's a childhood friend."

The Chancellor does not try to extract anymore from that sentence; Paul was obviously quite older than Lexa, and vastly different, she could not fathom how they could have been 'friends'…or if a younger Lexa would have even had friends. She instead says, "He only trades in flowers. Is that normal?" She had followed him yesterday outside to realize that the daytime revealed his hut was surrounded in rows of bushes of flowers—some she recognized, some she didn't. Colors she had never imagined could come from the earth.

"He is a simple man. It happens sometimes, children are born…disfigured…some without limbs, or eyes, or jaws; born without a voice."

"The radiation?" the doctor asks quietly, but is ignored as the Commander continues.

"Normally, such children are given back to the earth. Paul's mother could not. He is simple and gentle and was never accepted. But he appreciates what the earth can give us. He was a beggar in Polis when I was a child. There is not much room for the kindhearted in a world of war. The commander before me saw that a small light like his was needed, so he was sent here."

The Chancellor shudders a little, "Well, everything happens for a reason." Abby places the cup on the floor and asks, "Would you like to sit up?"

"I can do it." The Commander starts pushing back the furs.

"I sutured the wound closed a few hours ago. Please don't push it." The doctor helps anyway, and the Commander allows it. Once she's up, "How do you feel?"

"Weak, but better," she admits. She totally removes the furs, the warmth now overbearing. Looking down, she now notices that she too is dressed in unfamiliar clothes—a shirt so big that is swoops and reveals her bindings and bandages as if she weren't wearing anything at all, and strange cotton trousers tied around her waist with a rope and the cuffs rolled up an impossible amount of times to reveal her feet.

"I'm afraid you pull off the Goliath-look as well as I do," Abby says noticing the look on the Commander's face. She gets ready to stand and fetch some food. "Are you hungry?"

Lexa stiffly moves one leg over the bed, "Can you help me to the table?"

"Commander, I think it's best if you stay put."

"I need to move, to get some strength back. And I do not think Paul would agree to me eating in his bed. He's very particular with neatness."

"You're different." The doctor says thoughtfully, looking the Commander up and down.

"What?" not particularly offended, but disarmed by the statement.

"I mean, alone. You're different when it's just you. Don't get me wrong, you're still without a doubt _Heda,_ but you're just…different." The older woman doesn't know why she's said it, but it comes out all the same. The girl _is_ different. Not a separate entity as in she was both Commander and Lexa, but rather she was just more _and_ less than both of those things at the same time. Abby hadn't seen it before, but now it was unmistakable.

Lexa returns the studious gaze, "You're not." She was disinclined to use the word 'transparent', but that is what Abby is—emotional and devoted and controlling and maternal, no matter the circumstance.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" Abby asks as she reluctantly helps the Commander to her feet.

"It's neither. You're genuine, and that is a character all its own," Lexa groans as she steadies her aching legs. She waits a moment, eye's closed, breathing deeply and composing herself, one hand gripping the too-big pants to keep them from falling, despite the rope belt. The doctor's hands hover on either side ready to catch her.

Lexa opens her eyes and turns her head towards Abby, then carefully places a hand on the older woman's shoulder, "Thank you, Chancellor."

Abby nods and smiles a little, "You're welcome, Commander. Let's not make this a habit, though, okay?"

Lexa nods back. As the doctor brings an arm around the girl's waist to start walking, Lexa speaks one more time, "And Abby," she swallows, "I'm sorry, too."

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 **THE END**

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 **That's it y'all!**

 **This story has been told to completion, and I don't think it would do it justice to continue. I loved writing this, and I can only hope you enjoyed reading it. Maybe in the near future I'll do a sequel where they actually rescue Clarke and Octavia? We'll see.**

 **Comments/concerns/criticisms always welcome : )**

 **'Til next time...**


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